


Sleepy

by DulceDeLecheGranizado



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Ancom uses they/them pronouns, Canon Non-Binary Character, Commie is an oblivious dumbass, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Other, TW: Mentions of Drug Use, this is centricide so what did you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DulceDeLecheGranizado/pseuds/DulceDeLecheGranizado
Summary: Commie struggles with his newly-developed feelings for a certain little anarchist.
Relationships: Ancom/Commie, Authleft/Libleft, leftist unity - Relationship
Comments: 15
Kudos: 84





	Sleepy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the first fic i've ever written. I have a lot of feelings for these two. I spent way too much time on this for how short and simple it is lol. It was supposed to be kinda like a three-part oneshot? but I ended up only writing the first part, so here it is. I might write the other parts, but I'm not sure. Anyway, enjoy!

Commie didn’t fall for people that easily. He usually didn’t care about love. He was too focused on creating union and community between people, and fighting for the world to be a more just place for everyone. He was a very strong-willed man, and his will was the will to do good for society. So, he didn’t bother that much about individual feelings; he wanted radical change for humanity in general. Maybe he seemed cold on the outside, but when he cared about something, he put his whole heart into it.

So, when he started caring about the little anarchist a bit more than usual, when he started noticing how his heart lit up when they smiled at him, he understood. I mean, he _didn’t_ understand. Those kinds of feelings were not usual for him. Sure, he had felt them before with other people, but the flame had never been quite as powerful as it was now, fueled by his fellow leftist.

The feelings were strange to deal with and all over the place, but Commie didn’t deny them to himself. He knew what was happening. He couldn’t help but stare at Ancom in any occasion possible, couldn’t help but admire the irregular energy that guided their every move and decision. He had half-consciously decided to let himself endorse in the bittersweetness of the crush. It was irresistible. The Anarkiddy was something else; no matter how hard he tried, he could never quite put into words what it was that captured him so deeply.

And yet, that adoration was also a problem: the younger one slipped into his mind ever so often, haunting his every hour, a sweet little reminder of their existence always there. It was almost worrying (and definitely time-consuming) how much he thought about them.

The worst part was knowing that they probably didn’t feel the same way about him. They were too independent to ever catch feelings for someone who valued authority so strongly, right?

The truth is that Commie had no clue about what the other one felt. He had never been good at catching that kind of signs, and even if he had been, Ancom was very special and unpredictable. The communist had to live in a constant state of eagerness. Worrying. Hiding. Desiring them in silence, while trying to make them notice him. Pointlessly attempting to decipher what was going on inside their inscrutable head.

\-----

It was early morning in the extremists’s house. Commie liked to start his day before anyone else did; it was, perhaps, the only moment where the house was quiet and he had it all for himself. The routine was always the same: have a light breakfast, go out for a run, take a shower, and then read some theory or whatever he was feeling like doing at the moment, going on with his day.

That morning, however, a little detail surprised him when he went downstairs.

There was something on the couch. He rubbed his eyes. Oh, it wasn’t a something, it was a _someone_.

Ancom was laying messily on the pillows. They were asleep.

It wasn’t the first time Commie found them like this, passed out anywhere but in their bed, after getting high from a diverse range of substances. He sighed.

Their habit of using drugs as a coping mechanism or a way to drift away from reality had always worried Commie. It wasn’t healthy, not when it had become an addiction. He wondered what it was that made Ancom turn to these vices again and again; he knew that they battled with depression and anxiety, but had no clue of how it must feel. He could, however, observe the emptiness pouring out of the ideology’s eyes in their bad days, days when they barely got out of their room or, on contrary, spent hours and hours who knows where, lost in the world to avoid facing their own problems.

Ancom was a wild and complex soul. Their sensitivity was both a miracle and a curse. It was determination to fight for their beliefs, deep desire to make the world a better place… but it made them prone to be overwhelmed, and lead astray by the bad thoughts poisoning them, their inner demons. Commie knew that they were strong, but worried about them a lot nonetheless.

He stared at the youthful figure in front of him. Their left leg hanging out of the couch, old worn-out socks on their feet, disheveled brown curls poking out of their hood. Seeing Ancom in such a vulnerable position only deepened his desire to take care of them. He wanted them to feel safe. God, he swore he would do _anything_ to make them happy… 

_Блядь!_ Since when had he become such a softie? He was glad nobody was there to see the ridiculous lovey-dovey faces he was probably making. Commie wondered if the anarchist had any idea of how big of a space they had claimed in his heart. They were doing something to him that he had thought was undoable… and how could they not?? Ancom was so cute, and so small...

An idea popped up in his mind: he could pick them up and carry them to their bedroom. It would be so easy… the thought of holding them in his arms was tempting. But no, it wasn’t a good idea. He definitely didn’t wanna take the risk of having them wake up in his arms. It would be too embarrassing, and he would have no explanation for why he was doing it. Also, it would be kinda creepy, wouldn’t it? It wasn’t his business where Ancom fell asleep, anyway. He shouldn’t care.

Commie stared a little more. Not his fault! Ancom’s sleepy face was so lovely, dammit. His heart lit up every time he wondered over their features. The distinctive bandana they usually hid behind was tugged down, revealing a quirky nose and sweet, soft, slightly parted lips.

He could easily bend down and steal a little kiss without them noticing at all.

He blushed at the thought and immediately shoved it away. _God, what am I, a child?_ He felt intrusive for even thinking about it. His brain was being too flooded with emotions for how early in the morning it was. This whole thing was ridiculous. His head was still sleepy. He forced himself to stop staring and went to the kitchen, deciding to finally start his day and hopefully not think about Ancom for a while.

It was easier said than done.


End file.
